Our Lady of Fandom, Friday Afternoon
Samara had been having the time of her death in Fandom. Free to wander this island, pour her fear and anger directly into people's heads without waiting for a tape to get passed around, drive a horse insane (Though sadly not into the ocean. Yet.) and show up to torment her victims in person even before their seventh-day moment of death had arrived, she'd been as close to happy as a spirit composed entirely of misery, abandonment and rage could ever manage.
Until she'd tried to follow that woman. The one with the coffee-shop apron who'd made the mistake of spending her lunchbreak on Wednesday eating free popcorn, and spent the last three days picking centipedes out of the espresso beans and dreaming of burning trees. The one who Samara had hoped was heading for Galactica Point to throw herself off when she rushed out into the streets babbling about how there had to be a way to end this, but no. Instead, she had run to the church.
Where Samara -- rage as much as she liked, throw as much water at the doors as she could suck up from the nearby sea or down from the sky -- could not get in.
That localized thunderstorm over the graveyard? Pardon the psychic, psychotic, demon ghost eight-year-old. She's having a bit of a tantrum.
[OOC: Church is open for sanctuary or for anybody who needs to discover that it is sanctuary. Graveyard is open for any evil spirits who want a place to meet and plot.]
Until she'd tried to follow that woman. The one with the coffee-shop apron who'd made the mistake of spending her lunchbreak on Wednesday eating free popcorn, and spent the last three days picking centipedes out of the espresso beans and dreaming of burning trees. The one who Samara had hoped was heading for Galactica Point to throw herself off when she rushed out into the streets babbling about how there had to be a way to end this, but no. Instead, she had run to the church.
Where Samara -- rage as much as she liked, throw as much water at the doors as she could suck up from the nearby sea or down from the sky -- could not get in.
That localized thunderstorm over the graveyard? Pardon the psychic, psychotic, demon ghost eight-year-old. She's having a bit of a tantrum.
[OOC: Church is open for sanctuary or for anybody who needs to discover that it is sanctuary. Graveyard is open for any evil spirits who want a place to meet and plot.]